Keir

The first snow of winter was falling as the New Undying Army reached Hanged Man's Pass. Soon enough the area would be buried, making travel impossible. It would be a time of preparation for the new era of war.

From his perch in the lead wagon, Keir smiled at what he saw. The fortifications had progressed well. There were even more trenches, walls, and bunkers for the defenders. The forest had vanished replaced by a massive kill zone with no cover except for shell holes. Soldiers were being drilled in marching, fighting as a unit, retreating under fire, and everything else that was essential for survival.

With the arrival of food, supplies, weapons and ammunition, this would be a good place to wait out the winter. The desperate battle that had marked his rebirth would be almost impossible now. With the horde of dead scouring the region, combined with the many scouts, they would whittle away at any demon army, sapping it's strength before it could reach this place. The monsters would need an army in the hundreds of thousands, or more likely the millions to succeed.

The army of dead that followed behind the column of wagons, formed mostly orderly ranks in the kill zone. Living officers in charge of them made sure they were out of the way until the higher ups could find the best places to put them. Keir was happy enough to step aside and let them deal with the defences, he preferred being on the offence. He also had much more important things to do, such as studying his new dead warriors, as well as focusing his time on teaching the new necromancers.

Soldiers cheered as the wagons rolled past, carefully navigating the defences. The food wagons loaded almost to the breaking point with grain, vegetables, flour and dried goods, were particularly welcome. The tons of bullets, guns, and even shells were reason to celebrate as well. And no one turned their noses up at the blankets, medicine, cloth, tools and kegs full of nails. The winter would be lean and hard, but now they would survive it.

Hope had returned.

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Keir was once more in his chamber, grateful to have some time away from the public. His muscles ached from the journey and the long ritual. The body he had now, wasn't accustomed to the physical ordeals he had once found commonplace. He wondered if it ever would be. Still he had things to do and little time. So at the moment he was standing naked with his arms held out and his legs spread.

His three maids were bustling around him, taking measurements for a new winter wardrobe. It was too cold to rely solely on shadow cloth, and now that they had cloth and thread to work with, they insisted on giving him clothes worthy of his station. At least on that, they were in complete agreement about. Jaris was standing nearby, looking out the window, while Adria cast nasty looks at him, her wrinkled face twisted into a scowl.

“Adria, stop glaring at Jaris. He has seen me naked many times,” Keir said.

“That may be, Regua, but he should not see you naked now,” the old woman said.

“I'm in agreement with her, sir,” Jaris said. “You were not so comely when I last served you.”

“I lived over sixty years as a man. A few weeks in the body of a woman doesn't make me one,” Keir snapped.

“Then why does almost everyone except Mage Von, call you Mage Keira, sir?”

“It's easier, and I have more important things to deal with.” Hoping that the topic was dealt with, he went to put on his robe. His stomach ached and he was tired enough that he dropped into his desk chair. He regretted it almost instantly as his breasts bounced painfully. Glaring down at the useless things, he wondered how something so small could hurt from a little jostling.

While the maids began working on the undergarments, cutting seams and preparing to stitch them back together to properly fit his figure, he started his own work. Mentally he summoned one of the child ghosts he'd decided to call Strix, after a monster from folklore that looked a little similar.

High pitched laughter announced the ghosts arrival, seconds before it landed on the window sill. It's pitch black eyes were somehow darker than the black feathers that were as dark as a tomb. Looking at the thing was akin to looking at the endless abyss where the worst sinners were cast to fade into nothingness.

Taking up his fountain pen, Keir began writing down the physical features of the ghost, sparing no details. He even pulled out one of the feathers, counting down the seconds until the shadowy substance faded into nothingness.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

His stomach clenched in a painful cramp, making him smear his letters. Cursing, he turned to his maids. “Adria, make me some tea,” he snapped.

Turning back to the ghost, he shifted his sight to see magic. Through long practice, he began drawing the lines of energy on a clean sheet of paper. The tight weave was unlike anything he'd ever seen. It somehow wove death and air into a type of net, with a trace of life trapped at it's heart.

Normally death and life energy didn't mix, one would be stronger and cast the other out. Very gently he pushed through the lines of energy, careful to not break any of them, trying to understand how this worked. With painstaking effort, he slowly looked over the innermost weave and had to admire the work.

The green energy of life was cradled in a matrix of air, protected from the overpowering darkness. It wouldn't be easy replicating the weave, it would take days or weeks of intense study just to properly trace it out, much less create his own version. But it was possible.

Leaning back in his chair, he shifted his vision back. A cup of tea was on the far edge of the desk waiting for him. Gratefully he took a sip, his mouth was dry and sticky after his work. He spit it out a second later, it was cold and bitter.

“Adria! I wanted a decent cup of tea, not this swill.”

The old woman bowed her head. “I'm sorry Regua. I'll get you another.”

Jaris floated over to the desk, as the maid hurried away. “That's actually the second cup of tea she prepared. You were too distracted to drink either of them.”

“I wasn't that-” He stopped himself as his eyes went to the clock. He'd been working for over two hours.

Now that he wasn't so focused on his work, his stomach twisted, making him grimace. He hoped he wasn't coming down with an illness, but it would probably be a good idea to call for a healer.

“Are you in pain, sir?” Jaris asked.

“My stomach has been giving me trouble. It's not helping my mood.”

He noticed his two young maids looking at each other, a knowing look on their faces, before returning to their sewing. He opened his mouth to bark at them to mind their own affairs, when he realized they hadn't done anything to warrant his anger. Forcing his temper back, Keir asked, “Do either of you know why I feel like this?”

Elia, the older maid, bowed her head. “Regua, is your stomach cramping, your breasts sore, swelling in your belly or breasts, back pain, or tiredness?”

“I have the upset stomach, soreness and I'm tired. What is it?”

She suddenly looked unsure of herself, but after a moment said, “I believe you're menstruating, Regua.”

He noticed that Jaris was looking out the window again, clearly something very interesting was occurring out there from the way the ghost was staring so intensely outside. Rubbing his temples, Keir realized he should have expected this. He'd had many wives, lovers and daughters in his past life. He'd also worked with some women who had suffered through their menstruation using spells and medicines to deal with the pain.

But he'd never expected to deal with it himself.

Standing up, he pulled off his robe and was relieved that at least he wasn't bleeding yet. Putting it back on, he turned to his maids. Keeping his annoyance under tight control, he said, “I'm not experienced with this. If you would be so kind as to walk me through what I need to do, I would be very grateful.”

“Of course, Regua,” Elia said.

“Sir,” Jaris said, “if you don't mind I'd prefer to wait outside by the door.”

“Of course, Jaris. I don't think either of us want to hear this.” He managed to smile at his poor joke. Sitting back down, he prepared himself to learn about something he'd never had any desire to know.

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Mirek

Sitting by a fire, Mirek tried to find a reason to stay alive as people celebrated around him.

Riders had been sent ahead of the caravan with the names of survivors from the city, so that any family or friends who had survived could greet them. The singing, cheering and drinking of the impromptu festival was as much for the happy reunions as the food and supplies.

There was no one there to greet him.

Toshka was gone, her body taken by the Necromancer. And his brothers, Luka and Brina were buried in a mass grave, victims of the same flu that had killed his beloved. He didn't even know what pit they'd been buried in.

Holding his battered sword in his hands, he thought about using it on himself. At least he'd be reunited with his family and Toshka for a time before returning to the world. If there was a world to return too by then. All too likely it would be overrun by demons and the dead.

The flames reminded him of a story he'd read as a boy, before the demons had arrived. He couldn't remember most of it, even though he'd memorized it and had recited it at school. He'd been told he could be a poet or a writer one day if he practised. But then the war came, and the need for stories and poems had ended, all his focus had turned to fighting.

The story was the last day of the city Fluss, before it was conquered and sacked by northern barbarians. The citizens of Fluss knew they were going to die. Their army had been defeated and slaughtered. The barbarians had sworn to their gods that they would slaughter the men and children, and take the women for their bed slaves. There was no hope for the citizens.

So the wounded and old men, the women and children. had armed themselves with what weapons remained and manned the walls. The city fell, but the enemy gained nothing from it but rubble and death. A single child survived, knocked out in the fighting and lost in the rubble. The barbarians offered him a place in their ranks for his bravery.

The child took the offered blade and ran the leader through the heart.

Looking at the Keep where the Necromancer worked to raise more unholy monstrosity, Mirek made a vow. The body of Toshka would be put to rest before he died.